Drowning
by adonne
Summary: One-shot. Takes place at the beginning of Catching Fire, from Peeta's POV.


**Note: **My first upload. Not sure if I'm completely happy with it, any criticism is welcome. I wanted to stay as true to the characters and storyline as I could, but I'm not too sure where I was going with it. Rated M for masturbation and the like, don't read if you don't want to.

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My heart pounded in my chest. I was thrashing, fighting for my life. I could feel the blood rushing in my ears as I struggled to escape, to climb. But I was caught. _This is it,_ I thought, cringing and anticipating the cold rip of teeth in my throat, willing my death to be fast. I wanted it to be over.

I woke with a start, yelping as my hip connected with the ground. My legs were tied up in my sheets, above my head. The blood was still pulsing in my ears as I realized that I'd rolled out of bed. Letting out a loud sigh in attempt to steady my ragged breathing, I reached up to untangle the sheets from my artificial leg. I could feel a bruise forming already.

I couldn't remember the last time that I'd slept through the night.

I sat on the edge of my bed, allowing my head to fall into my shaking hands as I considered the dream. Each night brought a new terrifying variation, a new mutt with long yellow teeth and suffocating hot breath. I tried to climb the cornucopia but the surfaces were too smooth and my limbs felt too heavy. The animal was on me now, and I yelled her name, willing her to pull me up to safety. Katniss was perched on the edge of the cornucopia, but she didn't extend a hand to me.

Instead of eyes, there were just dead holes in her face.

Horrified to my very core, I knew what to expect as I turned to face the shaggy black muttation that was breathing down my neck, practically salivating on me. It's expressionless gray eyes boring into me. _Let it end._

Shaking the damp waves of hair from my forehead I let a chill run through me before moving, as quietly as I could with my leg, out of my room and down the stairs.

Peering through the window in our kitchen, I saw that there were no lights on in any of the other houses in Victors Village. With the snow falling thick onto the ground, everything seemed more uninhabited than usual. I hadn't bothered to check the time, but looking outside, dawn seemed a world away. I boiled some water for a cup of tea and sunk down into a chair, ignoring the tight feeling in my chest. Nervousness, sadness, fear… I didn't have time for any of these. Most days I just went through the motions. _Wake up, bathe, eat, sleep._ But the victory tour had been steadily approaching. It was daunting, it suffocated my thoughts more and more as each day passed, breathing down my neck like the mutts that came to me each night in my dreams. And suddenly, the time was here. I didn't want to go back to the Capitol. I couldn't remember when I had last truly spoken to Katniss. I saw her from time to time, but she seemed to have no problem mumbling a polite hello, looking away, and carrying on.

_I'm all alone, aren't I._

But I pushed the thought away as quickly as it had come, and allowed my mind to fill instead with nothingness.

The sun was rising as I sat hunched in my chair with my sketchbook in my lap. I was aware of a faint throbbing in my spine as my pencil danced across the thick paper. This book was one of the few expensive things that I'd owned from before the games, thick paper filled with streaks of charcoal and graphite. Most drawings were unfinished, fragments of the thoughts and images that lingered in my mind. My drawing was beginning to take form – I used my thumb to smooth the shading on her face, examining how soft her features appeared to me as she slept. I sighed, feeling a small wave of embarrassment. The pencil strokes depicted the memory in my head perfectly. Why had I paid so much attention to her? What was wrong with me? Recoiling slightly, I closed the book and dropped to my knees to push it back under my bed, shoving away the thought of my paintings. There were dozens. I wasn't sure I wanted her to see them. They were beautiful, detailed, but terrifying. And she was in every single one.

The walk to Haymitch's house didn't take long. Though the houses in victors village were large, we still practically lived on top of one another. I had to lift my legs to wade through the snow, slowing me down significantly. It was soft under my feet, but heavy and wet. By the time I arrived at his front door, there was a thin white dusting of it on my shoulders. I pushed the door open right away, knowing that it was never locked.

I had almost gotten used to the smell.

Making my way to his kitchen, stepping over bottles and garbage and bits of molding food, I almost laughed. I had stopped trying to keep up with cleaning long ago – every time I came over I picked a few things up, but I knew that my attempts were futile. I was the only one that came here anymore. I dropped the loaf of bread on his counter. Besides the food that I brought him, I had never seen him eat. Haymitch was asleep in his seat, head on his kitchen table. A bottle of white liquor had spilled beside him. I mopped it up, and picked up a few more bits of garbage before setting the bread in front of him. He needed a shower. I considered waking him, or moving him to his couch, but I knew the pain that a hangover brought and decided against it. He would sleep it off. I filled a musty looking glass with water from the tap and set it beside the bread before leaving.

I didn't return home. I wasn't exactly sure where I was headed, until I had passed through the square, cut through the seam, and was standing in front of the boundary of District 12. I had kept my head down as I walked through town. The fence now towered over me, taunting me. It was supposed to be electrified 24 hours a day, but I had a feeling that wasn't true. How else would Katniss get out so often to hunt? I absentmindedly dug through the snow, looking for a stick to toss weakly at the fence. It fell to the ground, and I started feeling uncomfortable. _How stupid am I,_ I thought. _Like that would prove anything._

This was not my place.

I was a victor of the 74th Hunger Games. And the woods beyond this barrier still daunted me. A wave of tiredness engulfed me, and I wondered what I was doing standing here in the first place. I wondered if Katniss was out there with him right now. It was a Sunday, after all.

I suspected that there was something going on a number of years ago when I had started seeing them together around town. I pushed away the jealousy that was eating away at me, but I saw the way that the girls looked at him. _If only he weren't from the seam,_ they would giggle.

I imagined that Gale Hawthorne, tall, lean, and fearless, had no trouble venturing into the woods with Katniss. I was sure that he was agile and quiet, just like her. Not clumsy and loud, like me. Thoughts passed through my mind, images of them sitting concealed within the dead winter trees, olive skin blending together as their lips worked against one another. I imagined his hands sliding against her cold body, and I had to shake my head violently to rid myself of it. I backed away from the fence tiredly.

No, this was not my place. That time we spent together in the arena seemed, ironically, too good to be true. As allies. Friends. Lovers. Now we seemed to be nothing.

I didn't allow myself to feel self-pity for long, it wouldn't do me any good. When I got home, no one was there. Though no one lived in our old house, my parents still ran the bakery. Sunday was always a busy day.

Without thinking, I pulled out an array of ingredients from the cupboards. I measured and mixed, and absentmindedly kneaded dough. The empty house creaked every so often, and silence echoed inside my ears. When the cookies were done, I sat at the table and focused on frosting them.

More flowers.

All sorts of shapes formed. Green leaves, soft yellows and purples, the orange and black of tiger lilies. Even the soft white flower with three distinctive petals that budded on katniss roots in the spring. She always said I had an eye for beauty.

The colors distracted me from the empty feeling inside my chest. When I was done, I found a tin container, and carefully placed the treats inside, layering wax paper between them as to not ruin my hard work.

Prim answered the door after I knocked at it. I offered her a soft smile as I passed her the container.

"**More cookies?**" She looked up at me hopefully. I nodded. I had been bringing them cookies every three days for the past few weeks. She knew what I was going to ask next.

"**Is Katniss home?**" Prim shook her head. She never was.

"**No, she was gone by the time I woke up this morning. Probably hunting.**" She smiled at me, but it seemed vacant. She appeared much older than 13, something in her eyes told me that she was no longer a child. I tried to imagine Prim watching the games, and how she felt as the other tributes hunted her sister. Constantly expecting to witness her murder, certain that it would be her last memory of Katniss. We had all gone in to the arena certain that we weren't going to come out. I wondered if Prim understood my feelings. I sighed heavily, it was too soon.

"**Okay.**" I nodded at her and backed away from the door.

It was evening now. The sky was darkening as I walked home. When I arrived, I went straight up to my room. Tomorrow, the cameras would arrive, and we would be whisked away to the Capitol. My skin would be rubbed clean and raw so it would glow. Portia's soft presence would be back, making the tour slightly more bearable. She would give me dapper clothes to wear and tell me that I looked handsome. Reminding me to smile. Usually I wouldn't need a reminder, but Katniss would be forced back into my life. We would kiss and caress one another for the cameras, and I would be filled with longing and pain, and her with indifference. Caesar Flickerman would pry, wanting to know about the new lives of the starcrossed lovers of District 12. I'd speak for the both of us, laughing about how it's hard to get a moment alone together with her mother keeping a constant eye on us. She would cling to my arm, smiling innocently beside me. Of course everyone in District 12 knew the real story, that we'd barely spoken two words to one another in the months that we'd been home. I wondered if they knew how much I loved her, despite all this. I wondered if she knew. _I'm only human,_ I thought. _There's only so much I can handle. _

Feeling exhausted and somewhat used, I peeled off my shirt and fell back onto my bed. The mattress sprung underneath me, and I exhaled, letting the waves of sleep wash over me.

It didn't feel like much time had passed when I jolted awake, my breath caught in my throat. I could feel the sweat that dampened the back of my neck as I shifted my weight onto my elbows and shimmied into a more comfortable position in my bed. _Damn _leg, I thought as I dragged it, unfeeling, into a new spot. Finding something that suited me, I lowered my upper half back onto the mattress, allowing my heart to pound inside my chest as my labored breathing came back to normal. _I was so close…_

This was not one of the usual sweat inducing nightmares that had torn me from sleep each night, for the past number of months.

Those nightmares were a world away from where I lay now, still restless and uncomfortable in my warm bed. I pushed my fingers through my damp hair, moving the loose waves away from my forehead as I glanced at the clock. _3:57 am. _I sighed, know that sleep would not come to me again tonight. Like usual.

The burning sensation deep within my abdomen was becoming harder to ignore.

My whole groin seemed to pulsate, or at least it felt so. I shifted uncomfortably, and the soft sheets slid across my skin. I grunted in annoyance as my balls tightened, sending a small wave of pleasure through my body.

Why tonight?

The dream had been so vivid, leaving me in turmoil. _If it had just happened, I wouldn't be stuck dealing with it right now. _A warm blush crept onto my cheeks as I considered the idea of touching myself. For the most part I tried to wait it out, but I knew that this was the type of arousal that wasn't going to subside. It had been months since I had last relieved myself, and as that memory passed through my mind, I felt just as embarrassed as I'd felt in those moments. But for some reason, the thought also seemed to add fuel to the fire. I allowed my hand to slowly slide across my balls, considering this, and I rolled them in my fingers as I recalled the last time that I'd gotten off.

I had been alone in my room on the train. The nightmare of the arena and the games was over – but another one was just beginning. The days after leaving the arena seemed to flash by; the interviews were never ending, I never seemed to have a moment alone. My leg had been removed and replaced, scars erased, wounds healed. And the kisses… they were deeper and more passionate than the pecks we exchanged at the beginning of our alliance in the games. I know now that it was for the crowd.

I was sitting in my bed, blankets pulled up to my chest. We had departed the Capitol yesterday morning - the train was moving slower on the way home to District 12, and stopping far more often. It was a whole different feel than the swift and terrifying ride down to the Capitol before the games, but it was just as daunting.

The truth had come out yesterday afternoon, that the way Katniss had acted in the arena was not genuine. That it was all an act, started in motion by my confession of love during the first tribute interview. The fake starcrossed lovers of District 12. When I had confided in Haymitch, explaining my feelings for Katniss, he had told me to announce it to the nation. I had an inkling that a plan was forming in his mind, but I didn't consider it much as the games began.

I was hurt. She had mentioned it so casually yesterday morning, as we walked along the length of the train, hands in hand. She had assumed I was playing the game right along with her. I knew she saw the pain in my eyes, because shock registered on her face as I left. She really had no idea how I felt. She thought I had lied about all of it.

I hadn't come out of my room since, other than last night to grab some food. There were no books to read, nothing to sketch on, and nothing to do other than consider my miserable situation. I laid in bed, tossing and turning, alternating between pain, anger, and boredom. The first day had been mostly pain and anger, but now I really was getting bored.

I hadn't realized that I'd been fondling myself until I felt the blood begin to rush to my penis, slowly doubling it in size. I hesitated at first, but no one had come to check on me in over 24 hours, so what did I care. It seemed like second nature to grip the shaft loosely and begin rubbing. First with slow, light strokes, that grew heavier and harder as time passed. I wasn't sure why in the world I was in the mood for this right now; it seemed contradictory to everything else that was happening in my life. I'd removed my hand from my boxers, and pulled them down hastily, allowing my cock to spring free. Precum shone on the tip as I climbed back into the big bed, pulling the blankets over me once more and gripping my erection, strategically placing pressure over the ridge where the head of my cock met the shaft. Maybe it was a coping mechanism, but after a few minutes, I really got into it. I was over my plateau and I could feel that relief wasn't far off. My face was flushed and my breathing was getting heavier. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt this good. It was such a drastic change from the last few weeks. The head of my cock was pulsing as I thrust into my own hand, leaning forward and biting into the blankets that barely covered my bare chest, a feeble attempt to keep from moaning. My hair was messy and slicked to my forehead with sweat, and my abs were burning from the position I'd assumed. But I had to finish. A grunt escaped my lips and I knew I was close. Everything was burning with pleasure, especially the spot deep inside my groin that told me I was cumming. I could feel it now. I was rubbing my erection furiously. _Cumming. Cumming…_

The door to my bedroom compartment creaked open.

"**Peeta?**" Katniss' voice sounded soft, as she hesitating in my doorway.

But it was too late. I jumped at the shock of seeing her, my hands flying away from my arousal. But I was cumming. The first spurt hit my leg beneath the blankets.

"**Were you sleeping? Or-**" Her quiet voice cut short and a look of confusion passed over her face at the sight of my sweaty hair, burning face, and mortified expression. I barely had time to be thankful that my naked body was covered by blankets before the next wave hit.

"**Unh,**" I manage, my face flushing even brighter, looking away, covering my face, my muscles contracting in the throes of my orgasm. Second spurt. Third… I can feel my cum running down my throbbing shaft and trickling to my balls.

Katniss took a half of a step closer, a look of pain passing across her face, before backing out of the room, mumbling a feeble _sorry _before the door shut behind her.

I wonder if she thought I was crying.

My orgasm ebbed, and I fell back onto the mattress, trying to regain control of my breathing, and wishing my erection would soften. But it didn't. I was too embarrassed to move. When I finally mustered the energy to get out of bed, I pulled the soiled sheets off and threw them into a heap in the corner. My erection had subsided slightly, but as I walked to the bathroom to wash up, my cock was still bobbing straight out in front of me. A crippling wave of embarrassment hit me, but something else came with it. A sense of desire. Something that told me I wanted her to know what I was doing. Something that aroused me even more. I tried to shake it off, but I got no sleep that night.

The next morning we were home.

I made sure my face was emotionless, before I offered my hand to her, just like before.

"**One more time? For the audience?**"

The pain behind her eyes makes it evident to me that she thought I had been crying. I knew I should feel satisfied, but instead I was just tired.

I trailed up the length of my erection, and was rewarded with a pool of sticky wet precum. I sighed. It had been so hard to contain myself all this time. Feelings of guilt and embarrassment were competing, but my arousal won out. She was never my real lover anyways – why should I care what she would think of how I relieve myself? There was a certain amount of bitterness as that thought passed through my mind, but it was easily swallowed away by the wave of pleasure I felt as I dabbed my fingers in the lubrication at the tip of my cock and began rubbing my frenulum lightly. I rubbed all around the head of my cock, even the slit. I loved this feeling of teasing myself, like I could make the pleasure last forever. But eventually it became too much to bear, and I spit on my hand and brought it back to my shaft. In the heat of my arousal, even when I felt orgasm approaching, I removed my hand and caressed other parts of my body until the feeling subsided slightly. I didn't want this to end – I didn't want tomorrow to come. Rubbing my wet fingers around the head of my cock, I began to apply pressure to my perineum. That definitely added to the sensation. I allowed a small moan to escape my lips, and I flipped over onto my stomach and began to thrust into my bed.

I was cumming. I rolled onto my back and grabbed at my erection frantically. My heart was pounding in my ears as spurts of semen hit my chest, dribbled down my cock, and got stuck in the small trail of light hair leading from my navel to my groin. Rope after rope of cum shot out, taking what felt like minutes to subside and pass. I watched my chest rise and fall roughly, wondering how I was going to get to the bathroom to wash up, with cum all over my torso. A wave of shame hit me, as I considered my lack of self-control. No one would ever suspect me to be like this.

I watched the ceiling for what felt like hours, naked on my bed, erection subsiding. When the cum had dried in flakes to my body, I stood up and made my way to the bathroom, stepping immediately into the shower. I needed to wash away the scent of guilt and embarrassment and indulgence, _…and sex._ I thought. I stood in the shower for 30 minutes, letting the water run over my naked body. I rubbed myself with sweet smelling soap, shook the water from my hair, and put on fresh clothes. I stripped the sheets from my bed even though they weren't soiled, and sat on the corner of my mattress. The sun was just beginning to gray the sky. The day I'd been dreading was here already. I could have cried the way I did before my first trip to the Capitol, but I chose not to give into it this time.

Instead, I baked bread. I left one loaf at home and took the other with me as I walked to Haymitch's house. It was warm in my hands as I trudged through the snow. My footprints from yesterday had been erased, as the snowfall hadn't ceased. But there was another, fairly fresh looking set leading to his front door. As I pushed it open, I could hear her voice, for what felt like the first time in years.

"**Look, if you wanted to be babied, you should have asked Peeta.**"

My chest tightened at the sound of my name on her tongue, and I stepped into the house.

"**Asked me what?**" I questioned as I crossed into the kitchen and set the loaf of bread down on the table. Haymitch passed me a dirty looking knife. I picked up a bottle of liquor from the ground, and began to clean it off.

"**Asked you to wake me without giving me pneumonia,**" He mumbled.

I knew Katniss was watching me as I cleaned the knife and began to slice the bread. It sent a pang of discomfort through me, but I met her eyes anyways.

"**Would you like a piece?**" I offered. I saw a brief flicker of emotion cross her face before she looked away. I can't place it.

"**No, I ate at the Hob,**" she replied. "But thank you."

"**You're welcome.**" As soon as I said it, I regretted it. It sounded stiff and unnatural and… _stupid_. I tried to shrug it off, looking away from her.

"**Brrr. You two have got a lot of warming up to do before showtime.**" Haymitch almost looked amused.

I looked up at Katniss but she was already in the windowsill.

"**Take a bath, Haymitch.**" And she was gone.

I let out a huff. I could tell Haymitch was eyeing me, waiting for my reaction. But I just shrugged, and begin picking things up off his soiled floor.

"**She's right,**" I added. "**You do need a bath.**"

When I got home, I still felt bitter and a little annoyed. We were in this mess together, and even if it's all an act, I needed her to play her part too. I needed to not feel so alone in this situation.

Within two hours, Portia and Effie Trinket arrived at my door, flanked by a camera crew. I smiled a genuine smile at Portia, glad to see her. She was carrying a bag of clothes. Effie jumped right into an explanation of the order of today's proceedings, but I wasn't entirely listening. Eventually, she and the camera crew departed, leaving me alone with Portia.

After rubbing some sweet smelling product into my hair, she dressed me in comfortable black pants and a dress shirt, dark grey pea coat, and black leather gloves. Stepping back and grinning in satisfaction, she pushed a few blond waves around on my forehead, and told me I'm ready. I inspected myself in the mirror and smiled, supposing I didn't look too bad. Golden waves were cascading across my forehead, and the jacket gave me an important look. Young, fresh, handsome. _Somebody. _Which I guess I was, in their world. It just felt like a whole different world than my own.

Why was I feeling so nervous? The snow was settling in my hair already, seconds after I stepped out of my front door. I squinted through the thick storm, catching sight of Katniss' face, lit up with a radiant smile. I felt a pang of hurt, if only she really smiled like that when she saw me. I tried to push the hurt aside, as she was now running at me like she couldn't wait to be wrapped in my arms. No one would believe our cold encounter this morning. I caught her in my arms, and my stomach lurched as I lost my balance, spinning out of control and toppling into the soft bed of snow. Her earmuffs were askew and I could feel her body against my chest as we began to kiss. I sighed into it, reaching up to stroke her cheek with my glove. I knew she could taste the sadness lining the inside of my mouth. Snow was still falling on us as she pulled me to my feet, and I dusted the white powder from my dark coat, offering her a small, but genuine, smile. She linked her arm with mine, pulling me along. I tried to look giddy for the cameras, but there was still sadness lining every crevice of my body. It was engulfing me, as it had been for the last number of months, and it was all I could do to not drown.


End file.
